


Quentin's Mentor

by lunaraindrop



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A little angst, Addams Family Levels of Shenanigans, Addams Family Levels of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fillory (The Magicians), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, May add other ships later, Morticia Addams is a boss bitch, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Q and Eliot are parents to a plant, Romance, The Addams family crossover, The Magicians Levels of Violence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Waltzing, but not one of the major characters, human gets eaten alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaraindrop/pseuds/lunaraindrop
Summary: Crossover and Canon Divergence for Season 1 "Mendings, Major and Minor"Quentin gets the mentor he deserves and it changes everything.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 36
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely folks! This is an expanded version of my Tumblr series of the same name. Since people really seem to love it, I decided to clean it up a little, add some more to the story, and post it on here! 
> 
> If you are a fan of the original version, THANK YOU soooo much for your love, encouragement, and support. I hope you enjoy this updated version. :) I will still post new chapters on Tumblr first, but now you might have an easier time to find the story on here.
> 
> To the new readers, HI! Thank you for reading! Please feel free and comment! I would love to hear from you!
> 
> Comments and Kudos= Love

* * *

Quentin was not in the best head space. After Alice told him to fuck off after trapping Charlie in the niffin box, and with his dad’s diagnosis, he found himself distracted and frankly upset.

He had done the right thing. Alice was too blinded by wanting her brother back to see it. Sometimes doing the right thing makes you lose a friend. Which fucking sucks.

But now he had to dress up and meet his mentor. Eliot and Margo had expressed just how important it was, and how “utterly boring” it can be.

Case in point, he almost ended up with a podiatrist.

Like, what?

Why would you even consider something mundane as podiatry when you have magic?

(Eliot had jokingly suggested foot fetishes before telling him the horrors of having a nun for a mentor the year before.)

The mentor he got though? …

Not what he expected. At all.

He found her in a shaded area of the garden, having what looked like afternoon tea instead of the white wine being offered.

For an older woman she was gorgeous, in that spooky Elvira kind of way. While he wasn’t attracted to her himself, Quentin could appreciate unnerving, uncanny, unique beauty. (After all, he _was_ attracted to Eliot, the most unnerving, uncanny, and unique beauty of a man to walk the earth, though he would rather throw himself in a river than tell him).

Her long straight hair was as black as her slim, floor-length dress.

She would look at home at a Stevie Nicks concert and an old Hollywood homicide.

Blood red lips curved into a small smile as she spotted him.

Somehow that made him feel both nervous and at refreshingly at ease. This lady’s smile, while a little creepy, seemed genuine in comparison to all of the fake ones plastered on the older people walking around campus.

The lady quietly called out to him from behind her raised tea cup. “Quentin Coldwater, is it? I’ve been expecting you.”

Quentin almost looked around to see if maybe she was looking for some other, cooler, more interesting Quentin Coldwater. But no, there was only him.

He tucked his hair behind his ear and stepped forward. Trying to remember his manners, he extended his hand for a handshake. “Uh, yeah. That would be me. I, uh, I mean yes, I’m Quentin Coldwater.”

The lady stood from her stately perch, but looked at his hand in amusement.

Instead of shaking his hand she tilted her head in a slow, friendly nod. After that she sat back down and with an elegant sweep of her arm indicated for him to sit.

Quentin didn’t even notice the other chair when he walked up originally. He quickly went to the offered seat and sat awkwardly in the chair.

Quentin never had a good relationship with chairs.

She didn’t seem to mind his awkwardness, though. In fact, she just smiled at him in an almost…motherly way. (Or at least how Mrs. Weasley looked at Harry in the movies. His mom certainly didn’t look at him that way when he would visit.)

After a minute of just the two of them sitting in the shade, the lady broke the silence.

“You’re a dreadful mess, aren’t you Quentin?”

Quentin blinked.

_Wow. She got right to the point._

Well, if she was going to be blunt, he was going to be honest.

“Uh, kinda. Yeah.”

The lady poured him… something from the teapot. It certainly did not look like any tea he had ever seen, and he had lived through Julia’s “fancy tea” phase where she would spend astronomical amounts of money for what literally looked like sticks, roots, and weird looking dried berries wrapped in cheesecloth.

The lady nodded at him again, looking pleased. “I think we’ll become friends, you and I.”

Quentin didn’t want to be rude to his presumably new mentor, but he did try to get a subtle sniff at the dark liquid. While he hoped that his mentor wouldn’t try to poison him, he knew his luck. He grew up watching _The Princess Bride,_ okay? He certainly knew that he didn’t have a tolerance of iocane powder. Plus, this was Brakebills. Anything was possible.

It wasn’t an unpleasant scent, but it still did not smell like any tea he knew. If anything, the contents of his cup smelled like… licorice and lilacs? Watching her take a sip from her own cup, Q cautiously took one from his own. And didn’t die. Huh. While…different, his drink was not necessarily bad tasting. A little too floral for his taste, like drinking candied potpourri, but not bad. If anything, it was kind of relaxing.

Feeling his tense shoulders ease, he gave her a befuddled yet dimpled smile. “I’m sure we will…umm…I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“I am Morticia Addams, your new mentor. And no, dear, sadly that isn’t poisoned. Dean Fogg forbid it.”

Quentin blinked; not quite sure she was joking or what to say to that. “Oh, ah. That’s…good? I’m allergic to poison?”

She sagely nodded. “Indeed. Now, tell me about yourself.”

* * *

Comments and Kudos = Love!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morticia and Thing give Henry Fogg a visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another updated chapter! Some more content was added to the Tumblr original. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I love to hear from you! You can also message on Tumblr. :)
> 
> Comments and Kudos = Love!

* * *

Henry Fogg walked into his office and sat down at his desk. He exhaled loudly in annoyance.

“My God, Morticia, there are things called phones. How the fuck did you get into my office?”

Morticia floated from the dark corner of the room. She daintily sat in one of the two guest chairs. “I had a hand.”

Henry rolled his eyes at her pun. “And how is Thing doing?”

Thing answered for himself. He jumped up on the desk and picked up one of Henry’s expensive fountain pens. Using Morse Code, Thing tapped something vaguely passive aggressive and rude as a greeting.

Thing always had a way with words. He was also a sardonic motherfucker.

This display made Henry have a genuine smile. “Nice to hear it. You know, the job offer still stands. I’ve never met someone more skilled to teach poppers.”

Thing immediately let Henry know just what he thought of that.

*G.O. F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.R.S.E.L.F. O.L.D. M.A.N.*

Henry could not help but let out a laugh deep from his belly.

For her part, Morticia smirked. As the two conversed she sat and waited, like a puma watching a defenseless deer drink from a river.

As his laughter calmed down, Henry wiped his eyes behind his glasses. Sitting back in his office chair, Henry arranged himself to look more professional. Or nonchalantly preparing for an attack. Either or. “Now that that’s out of the way, to what do I owe the…pleasure?”

Morticia, trading his stance for a confident one of her own, she arched one of her perfect dark brows.

“You know why, Henry Fogg.”

He knew she would be back for this very reason. He was also prepared to not let her get her way. “We went over this. The answer is no.”

She did not seem bothered by his rejection. “I simply do not accept that.”

Henry volleyed back. “Well, you must learn to accept it. There are rules-“

She evenly interrupted him. “If rules never changed, people like us would still be burned at the stake.”

Morticia Addams was the last person he thought would have a problem with a little burning, considering what he walked in on that one time in their parlor. He had seen a lot of sex related things in his life, but he would never look at beeswax candles the same way ever again. Or Gomez Addams for that matter.

“I thought you and Gomez liked kinky shit like that.”

Morticia elegantly shrugged. “Burnings, hangings, being crushed by stones…all of these can be good fun, but not in the hands of those that persecute us.”

Thing tapped the desk in agreement.

Henry got sarcastic. “My mistake.” Deciding that he would rather be drunk while having this conversation, he opened his bottom left drawer and pulled out his half empty bottle of Southern Comfort and a glass. Forgoing the glass, he took a long, slow drink straight from the bottle.

Thing tapped out *L.U.S.H.* on the desk.

After waiting for Henry to finish, Morticia carried on. “Rules are meant to bend and twist, especially when they are needed to change.”

Feeling a little looser lipped, the man let her know what he was _really_ thinking. “You are so arrogant, Addams. Rules like these are brittle. I cannot bend the rules for this because things will break. They won’t work right.”

Morticia scoffed. “I’m the arrogant one? Tell me, Henry, you made this rule. Does the acrobat’s spine snap when doing a flip?”

“No, but that is because an acrobat is meant to bend.”

“Is an acrobat born to bend? Or do they learn with the help of the circus and a net?”

Henry was getting really tired of this shit. He took another drink and then aggressively slammed the bottle back on the desk. “Even if you offer to weave a web from your own silk fibers for him you she-devil, I still will not agree to this. It’s dangerous.”

Morticia smiled. “Precisely.”

Henry stood firm. “No.”

Morticia raised both eyebrows. “Yes. I am very adamant, Henry.” At this time, she leaned forward, and all of her mystique and alluring charm were gone. What was left was a feeling of apprehension, like the calm before a massive storm, or the second before a ticking time bomb is supposed to go off. There was a threat in her intense eyes. A threat anyone would and should know not to ignore. She continued on. “What you have done will not continue. You are **hurting** him, and not in a good way. I’m in charge now, and you will give them to me.”

Henry rumbled deep in his throat. “Fuck off you Carmela wannabe, the answer is no!”

Nostrils flaired, Morticia sat back regally, calming herself. She had one more trick up her sleeve. “I’m afraid that The Addams family will have to pull our…generous donation if you don’t comply. I’m sure the board will be thrilled.”

Henry continued to be stubborn and angry. Of course, she would pull the money card. Damn her! The school needed the Addamses funds badly. If they were to pull them, things would become detrimental. Also, he would be in a lot of trouble with the McCallisters, possibly loosing his job if he lost them one of their largest benefactors.

Morticia, of course knew this, and sat there like the cat who drown the raven in cream and ate it.

Henry exhaled and felt the fight leave him.

Thing snapped his fingers to hurry him up in answering.

“Fine. I guess you’ve won. You are his mentor now.” Reaching down, he pulled open his middle right drawer and took the correct item out. “If this keeps him from reaching his potential, it is all on you.”

Morticia extended her hand and opened her palm to receive. “I wouldn’t insist if I thought it would. He’s in the best hands now.”

Thing tapped in agreement and threw Henry some shade.

Against his wishes, Henry Fogg gave Morticia Addams a bottle. Inside was Quentin Coldwater’s medication.

Like a mother cobra fiercely looking after her adopted young, Morticia left the office knowing Quentin was finally on the path to being healthy. Because, like heaven and all things pastel she wouldn’t protect her new cub.

* * *

Comments and Kudos = Love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morticia and Q have more questionable tea. They take a walk. She gives him something that was taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely new, never before seen chapter! As in new to both Ao3 and Tumblr readers! What do you think? :) What 's going on with the tea?
> 
> Comments and Kudos= Love!

* * *

Morticia had a thing about meeting him every other Sunday at dusk. Most of the time they would first have various types of weird tea. Every time it was different. Quentin was surprised to find that he really liked this greenie-dark gold one that tasted like vanilla, smooth cigar smoke, and maybe jasmine? Some exotic floral aromatic at least. It put to mind Absolem’s hookah in _Alice in Wonderland_ with the sweet and smoke of it, or like if the caterpillar smoked Eliot’s very pleasing, very _expensive_ vintage cologne.

While the first tea he ever drank with her felt a little relaxing, _this_ one made him feel **_safe_** and **_warm_** at the first sip. Holy shit. It was, uh, umm, kind of trippy? Quentin wasn’t sure what kind of magic in tea could make him feel **_home_** and **_love_** and, ah- like he was wrapped in a warm quilt with _A World in The Walls_ in his lap, but fuck. He loved it. It was so much better than the claret one that smelled like pickled eggs and tasted like oranges and vinegar. He found that feeling comfortable and safe actually helped him learn. Something that he would struggle with in class seemed almost easy during a visit with his mentor. Mrs. Addams, as he called her, told him that he was right.

“The emotions of a magician greatly affect their casting ability, Quentin Coldwater.” She said as she made a needle and black thread sew an equally black button on her daughter’s dress. (He was doing a pretty okay job of reattaching one on his jacket. Mending magic was kind of fun.) “Even the most skilled and powerful of our kind can be hindered by chaos and the fog of confusion. Focusing those emotions is key.”

That had made him feel self-conscious amidst the comfort. Quentin had crossed his arms over his body. While he still felt the warmth and care bubbling over him like an ebbing tide, he couldn’t help but hear that dark voice in his head telling him he was not good enough for her to mentor.

“But what if…you know, someone suffers from depression or anxiety? Will they forever have problems using magic? Will they be bad magicians?”

At once she put down the sewing. She drew close to him, casing him in, well, surprisingly soothing shadows. Her eyes seemed to glow with compassion and ancient knowledge.

“Oh no, Quentin. You misunderstand me.” With that, she used her dark draped arm to usher him into a walk around the cottage. He listened intently.

“Ennui? The deepest melancholy? The body’s innate overreaction to Fight or Flight? All of those are part of the magician themselves. Being born with blindness does not cause confusion for an eye that has never looked. Not being able to hear does not cause chaos to an ear that has never listened.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed, mind deep in thought over her words. Something in her metaphors sparked, making something within him feel lighter. “Yeah, okay. That kinda makes sense. Your baseline “normal” might not be like another magician’s “normal”, but as long as you learn how **_you_** focus, it doesn’t matter if you are the saddest fucking sad sack in the world, if you are a focused fucking sad sack, you can be a good magician.”

Morticia gave him one of her pleased, closed lip smiles. 

“Normal is just an illusion, Quentin. What is normal to the spider is chaos to the fly. If the fly was a magician, panic could make them dinner. If the spider was a magician-”

“They could get overly hungry and accidently let the fly fly away?” Quentin answered with a dimpled grin of his own.

“Precisely.”

Hearing Mrs. Addams talk about spiders and flies reminded him of what Jane Chatwin said when he was locked in his mind.

“But what if you are both the spider and the fly? Wouldn’t that duality cause confusion and anxiety?”

At that, Morticia pulled something out of her handbag. She opened his palm and placed the medicine bottle he gave to Dean Fogg in his hand. Quentin’s jaw dropped at seeing it.

_How did she get ahold of this?_

Being her mysterious self, she looked up to the window and waved. Following her eyes, he could see Eliot, Margo, and Alice staring out at them. Bemused, he waved with his other hand.

The three darted away after realizing they were caught. The last was Eliot, casting warm, hazel, worried-but-trying-to-look-aloof eyes over Q’s hand.

Quentin knew he would be hounded until he explained. That was okay, though, while annoying, it also felt good that someone actually cared about him enough to hound him.

Morticia redirected his attention back to her.

“Curious little beasties, your friends. I will have to meet them sometime.”

As much as he liked Mrs. Addams, he wasn’t sure how meeting his friends would go. She could be a bit…morbid at times.

He went to stuff the pill bottle in his pocket, but Moriticia stopped him.

“You are clever, my young apprentice. Very clever. That’s a secret some magicians, even older, well-educated magicians, never figure out in a lifetime. In truth, you ARE both the spider and the fly. You can weave the world around you **and** fly to where others cannot even imagine.”

She curled his fingers around the bottle.

“But only if we trust in our magic and lead ourselves away from harm.”

Stunned, he stood there with her on the lawn.

_Oh shit. Wow. She just dissed Dean Fogg, didn’t she?_

Leading him back to the tea table, she moved her fingers and let the teapot refill their cups.

“Now, I believe swallowing pills is easier to do with a drink. Won’t you join me?”

Even though Dean Fogg’s words on his first day echoed in his mind, seeing the brimming teacup and pill on the black linen tablecloth _felt_ like trusting his magic… and maybe leading himself away from harm.

Taking a sip from the tea that tasted of fantasy adventure and the most beautiful man in the world, Quentin Coldwater went back on his medication.

* * *

Comments and Kudos = Love!


End file.
